


Random Christmas ficlet

by NellieOleson



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:23:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellieOleson/pseuds/NellieOleson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just realized that I never added this part to the sad Christmas fic. :)</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The snow was blue in the fading light of the planet’s unstable star. It swirled and danced over the city, coating the streets and smoothing out the the harsh lines of the alien architecture.

The balcony she sat on was covered, but the wind was gusty and erratic. She had to brush wet flakes from her watch to check the time. They were still preparing for the evening meal here, but it was just past midnight in Colorado Springs.

Another Christmas spent far from the lights, crowds and obligations of the season. Sam wouldn’t have it any other way; she’d learned to hate the holidays a long time ago. Maybe they all had. It wasn’t by accident they spent nearly every Christmas offworld.

The door opened behind her and Colonel O’Neill stepped outside. The wind caught the brim of his hat and snatched it from his head. It landed safely in Sam’s lap and she handed it to him when he sat next to her on the long, uncomfortably low bench. She fought the urge to shift away from him. He’d been existing far too close for her comfort lately.

She focused on the view. They wouldn’t have it long. The lights in the city were starting to come on, filtered and soft through the snow.

“It’s pretty up here,” he said.

“Yeah.” They’d been given a room in the tallest building. It was impressive and sad. One day soon, it would sit silent and abandoned. 

She could have said more, given him something to work with but she was tired and not feeling particularly generous. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t very good at Christmas. “Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked. More meaningless words.

“I think so.” Only because she was sure the only option was to give them the address of an unoccupied planet where they could rebuild their civilization. Their star was dying. Destroying a sun, it seemed, was a lot easier than saving one. She didn’t mention any of that.

They watched the snow fall and she waited for him to say whatever it was he’d come out to say, wondering if she’d become as easy to read as he had.

Eventually, he cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said. “Merry Christmas.” He held up a single key dangling from the end of a small, metal fish. A trout, perhaps.

She knew immediately what the key was for, and wasn’t sure if he was being optimistic or cruel. Not that it mattered. “I can’t take that.”

He put the key in her hand, closing her fingers around the warm, metal promise of an unlikely future. “You can,” he said. “It’s small.”

“That’s-” He was still holding her hand closed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

She stared at her closed fist when he let it go, imagining the imprint the little fish was leaving in her palm.

He got up suddenly, interrupting her thoughts before they could convince her to give the key back or throw it off the balcony. “Maybe next year,” he said behind a tight smile that looked forced in the pale blue light. He slipped back inside without giving her a chance to reply.

Sam stayed outside for a few minutes longer, rolling the key between her fingers.

Maybe next year.


	2. The end of the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I never added this part to the sad Christmas fic. :)

It's been a long journey, spanning ten years and two galaxies.

They’d run out of things to say forty miles ago; talking was never their strong point. They'd certainly had more practice in recent months, when she was on Atlantis and all they could do was talk, passing video notes like a couple of high-tech middle schoolers.

It was possible their lives were just too big. Spaceships, and alternate realities, and apocalyptic enemies weren't the things after dinner chats were made of. She wondered how long would it take for them to stockpile enough mundane experiences to have a normal conversation.

Jack reached over occasionally to touch her hand or squeeze her thigh. An offering of comfort or a verification of her existence, she wasn't sure which. She’ll take either and maybe those simple touches were enough communication for the two of them.

He slowed the truck and turned on to a single-lane dirt road that was easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. The trees grew closer together, pressing against the road while Sam sorted through the random thoughts in her head. They were numerous and varied: how to increase the yield of a bag of microwave popcorn, what was that other chevron for, how long would it be before Woolsey got the entire Atlantis expedition shut down?

"I can probably have Woolsey killed," said Jack, as though her thoughts had been projected onto the windshield. They'd had a run-in with a telepathic brain parasite the year Daniel ascended and she sometimes wondered if Jack still caught her thoughts. He'd kept the barber from them. Why not that?

"What? No." She thought for a moment, considering. "It's not his fault." Woolsey was a tool in every sense of the word, wielded by the IOA in its typical brutish fashion.

Jack was unsympathetic. "If you say so."

The conversation didn't have enough traction to continue on its own so they drove on in silence. She took his hand, running her thumb along the callouses of his palm and thought that maybe she wouldn’t miss Atlantis after all.

The last stretch of road was long and dusty, full of holes and rocks that needed to be eased over or avoided. The parallels weren't lost on her and her reflection smiled grimly in the window. It's a wonder they ever made it this far.

A cloud of dust rose up around the truck when they stopped, giving the cabin a sepia-toned look in the late afternoon sun. They didn’t have much daylight left.

"Well,” he said, when the dust settled. “Here we are."

“Here we are,” she agreed. She got out of the car and stretched, trying to work the road-trip stiffness out of her back. Space travel had her spoiled.

Jack came around to her side, carrying a cooler and a well-worn backpack. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll give you a back rub if you help me put the food away.”

“Sounds like a deal.” She leaned over the cooler to kiss him before grabbing her duffel bag and following him to the door. His hands were too full to open it so she dug her own key out of her pocket. She rubbed her thumb over the keychain out of habit; tracing each line, pausing over every scratch and nick. Scars to match her own, she knew the stories behind them all.

The fish had lost its shine over the years. Its edges were soft, worn smooth by her own hands. It’s traveled with her to countless planets--through stargates and on ships, in good times and bad. She’s wanted to throw it away, to give it back, and she’s searched for days when it’s gone missing.

A talisman, keeping her safe. A promise, giving her a reason to live. A painful reminder of what she was giving up. It’s been all those things and more.

Today, it was just a keychain, and that’s really all she’s ever wanted it to be.


End file.
